


If You Close Your Eyes

by zanzibar



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sweet hands, shootout moves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanzibar/pseuds/zanzibar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Ducks play by play guys said you had sweet hands." John laughs, low and gentle, "I agreed with them."</p><p>In which Sam's adjusting and John's staying away from social media.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from Bastille.
> 
> I love you Sam Gagner. I hope Arizona loves you too.

Sam is generally pretty good at balancing. He's good at drawing the line between hockey being his life and also being his job. 

John helps draw the line. Because John is hockey. Was hockey before he became something more. 

Glendale helps too. Because it isn't Edmonton. It feels sacrilegious to say. Like he's betraying everything in his life to think that maybe he's happier. That maybe face-off percentage and shooting percentage and back-checking are all somehow all more bearable because the person bagging his groceries in Sun City isn't especially likely to either recognize him or want talk to him about it. In Arizona, hockey is something Sam does, in Canada, hockey was what he is. 

It's a weird kind of balance. The travel is so different for the Coyotes. They swing quickly into California, Sam wears a suit, packs an extra shirt and two ties. In contrast John's on something like a 12 game Western road trip. Road trips that long mean doing actual laundry on the road, not just springing for laundry because you want to wear the shirt you wore 2 nights ago, 12 game road trips mean doing laundry because packing enough underwear for the whole trip is excessive. 

The Coyotes go down to the Ducks on 2 quick goals in the first and Smitty's slamming his stick around the crease in frustration and Sam's in the box on a bullshit tripping call and sometimes he looks around the rink and sees the score and sees Duby sitting at the end of bench in a baseball cap and feels like nothing changed. Like he could just as easily still be wearing the copper and blue. Like maybe a summer of uncertainty and 49 minutes as Stamkos' teammate and then another quick deal back to the west was all just a weird dream. He has them sometimes, when he drinks a beer and gets sucked in to the Friday night Dateline true crime show and falls asleep on the couch and wakes up sweaty and disoriented and not sure of anything.

But he doesn't play for the Oil anymore and on this night in Anaheim he and his new teammates fight back and fight for the tie and survive overtime and suddenly it's the shootout. 

The rules have changed a hundred times since Sam started playing hockey. But the dry-scrape before overtime is the hardest for him to adjust to. It used to be a quiet time to think about his moves, to focus on his shot. But now the change happens so quickly that without much fanfare at all he's standing at center ice waiting for the signal and just before he picks up the puck he realizes that because of the schedule John's home waiting for him, that for once he's going to come home to a warm bed.

He buries his shot and they pick up the extra point on Smitty's slamming the door and Sam and Mikkel's scores and Kesler blowingp the net completely. 

"I got to watch you on TV," John's voice is just a little giddy as Sam wedges his phone between his ear and his shoulder and shoves his bag in the overhead compartment. It's still warm outside, desert life still an adjustment he's having trouble with, a closet full of wool jackets he never needs but always feels like he's forgetting. "The Ducks play by play guys said you had sweet hands." John laughs, low and gentle, "I agreed with them."

"Sometimes I'm glad you don't really know how to use twitter," Sam admits, settling into his seat and looking out the window, "god knows what you'd reveal to the world."

"That's a really excellent idea," John laughs again, "but the feelings I have about your hands would take more than 140 characters."

"Oh god," Sam rests his head against the cool glass of the window.

"Dear John and Brian," John sing-songs as the lights dim and the plane starts to taxi, "if you think Sam's shootout moves are sweet, you should see what he can do to me in the shower."

"Please stop," Sam scrubs a hand through his hair. "We're taking off. We flew into Orange County, so I'll be home in like 2 hours."

"I'll just be laying here," John's grin is practically beamed through the phone, "in your house, in your bed, waiting for you to be home so you can put those sweet hands to use."

"You are a menace," Sam's grin is unconscious and his hands flex against the thin fabric off his dress pants. "Love you JT."

"Love you Sammy, get home, I want you and your hands all up in here."

Sam isn't always good at balancing. But he's definitely getting better.


End file.
